


Exhibit A

by notaflyingsofa



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Public Sex, Sex in a Car, christening the Bentley, other adventures in public sex, so Aziraphale doesn't want to join the mile high club but he may find inspiration from those who do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 22:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaflyingsofa/pseuds/notaflyingsofa
Summary: Aziraphale wants to have public sex, but he has standards, after all.





	Exhibit A

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the cramped airplane lavatory and Ellen Degeneres's joke about how she doesn't even have room to have sex with herself in one of those things. 
> 
> Enormous thanks to Violet_Zed for beta-reading!

Crowley and Aziraphale relaxed on the angel’s sofa, having just returned from a joint wile involving a commercial airline, mistaken identities, and a rather unfortunate incident involving a full tray of lasagna. It had been an exhausting day. 

Just when Aziraphale was quite sure he couldn’t take any more nonsense without discorporating, he heard the unmistakable sound of orgasmic wailing coming from the airplane loo. Unmistakable, but he was sure he __must__ be mistaken. 

But it continued until suddenly, it ended. And then...

_The over-loud flush._

_ The door clacking open and shut. _

Out stumbled a woman, smoothing down the flaps and wrinkles of her apparel as she returned to her seat.

A moment later, a second woman emerged. Her buttons were askew, the other woman’s lipstick staining her face, her hair a mess, and the airplane lavatory still impossibly too small (and unsanitary) for such activities to have taken place.

_And yet. _

*

The image still hadn’t left Aziraphale’s mind the next day when Crowley was over at the bookshop debriefing. Which mostly meant shooting the shit and drinking excessively. If these days it also meant kissing, running fingers through each other’s hair, and many, many orgasms, how could you possibly blame them?

He relayed the brief story to Crowley in excruciating detail.

“I simply do not understand the appeal, nor indeed the logistics, of joining the ‘_mile high club,_’” he said, his hands forming half-fists in front of his face, as though protecting himself from the very concept as well as expressing his disgust. 

Crowley shrugged. “A little danger, a little voyeuristic thrill. As far as atmosphere is concerned, though, you may as well rut on a Greyhound bus.”

Aziraphale gave a slight grimace in distaste. 

Crowley sniffed. He didn’t much like it himself. 

Brightening, Aziraphale said, “Oh, I can think of a million better places to indulge such impulses as __those__!” He walked his index and middle fingers up Crowley’s left arm while flashing his eyebrows. 

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “...Is that so, angel?” This was a curious development.

“Well, for starters… _literally anywhere_. But more specifically... oh, St. James’ Park. A church. The museum. A cemetery. A practice room at music school.... _A vintage Bentley._ A...um... a _bookshop_.” He popped the p in that word in a way more typically Crowley: more playful, more forward.

Aziraphale looked away as he put on his best impression of coy. It wasn’t very convincing. 

Crowley leaned back, ever so slightly, and regarded him in much the same way as when Aziraphale had tried to tempt him with Petronius’s oysters. 

“It sounds as though you’ve given this some thought,” and he stroked the angel’s right hand with his own. 

“Oh, just a few off the top of my head, really.” He lied, lyingly, and leaned in to give Crowley a gentle peck on the lips.

“Ngk.” A deceptively simple noise that could mean anything from simple acknowledgement to utter dismissal. 

What it meant was that Crowley had been driven to distraction. 

Aziraphale could be cautious. Overly so. Though he was capable of deep subversion and disobedience (he gave away his blesséd flaming sword) fully knowing what consequences he may face, just because it was the right thing. Occasionally, he was even capable of temptation, simply because it was the convenient, fun thing. His feelings for Crowley were more delicate, required more caution, and not just for his own sake. 

He had denied his own deeply held feelings for decades because “his side” may not approve. “His side” may have hurt him. “His side” may have hurt __Crowley. __If his own damnation was all that was at stake, he may have acquiesced centuries ago. But he couldn’t let them hurt Crowley. 

Armageddon’t had put this anxiety into some perspective, though. Denying oneself when you thought you had literal eternity at your disposal was one thing, but it became another matter entirely when you saw how abruptly eternity could end. 

Gabriel and the other angels had always been right twats anyway. 

With this new wisdom, Aziraphale embraced Crowley with all the abandon he did his desserts and his alcohol and his books. 

Crowley was as sweet, intoxicating, and enlightening as any of them. 

They settled into a new normal. This new normal looked a lot like the old normal, but they no longer had to hold their breath. They could lean into the simple joy of each other’s company and, in doing so, found other ways to enjoy it. 

Now it seemed the angel was willing to get caught in the act. 

***

It had really been quite a good list of suggestions. Some were more practical than others, sure, but they could work up to the more ambitious ones. 

For now, he knew just where they could find a vintage Bentley. 

***

He parked at the local lovers’ lane, the sky deep and full of stars. He turned to Aziraphale and lifted his hand, gently stroking his cheek. The angel’s eyes went all soft and gooey like they sometimes did when he was overcome with such affection. He wore a little smile at the tenderness of the moment.

Crowley leaned in, head just cocked, and pressed his lips gently to Aziraphale’s. He then pulled back far enough to lean over and whisper into Aziraphale’s ear: 

_ “I heard a rumor you wanted to do it in my car.” _

The little smile disappeared. The soft and gooey expression went close behind, replaced by affectionate, but smug, annoyance. He rolled his eyes, near audibly. Scoffing, he swatted him playfully on the shoulder. 

“Oh, you crude thing…” and a look of hunger slowly bled into his eyes, “..._of course_ I do.” 

And he smiled a new smile, dark and full of intent. 

He wove his fingers into Crowley’s hair and grasped firmly, reeling him in for a heated kiss. Their lips came together first, hot and soft. Aziraphale nibbled at Crowley’s bottom lip and he moaned at the slight pain, just present enough to add some urgency to the kiss. He ran his tongue gently along the bitten lip and pushed it inside his mouth, Crowley eagerly reciprocating. 

Tongues tripped until their nerves were alight, and finally they came up for air. Did they need oxygen? No. But air must pass through the vocal folds to _gasp_ and _sigh_ and _whisper sweet nothings_ and to _cry out in ecstasy_, all of which theyintended to do_a great deal._ So up for air they came. 

And Aziraphale was glad for it, because Crowley really gasped so prettily. 

Still gripping his hair, he jerked him back roughly, exposing his neck. 

He hissed in surprise and delight. 

Ah, yes. Another lovely use for that air. 

He licked against his carotid artery, or where it would be, and nibbled lightly where his tongue had been. Crowley let out some needy whimpers until finally Aziraphale bit down properly into Crowley’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his angel’s neck. 

“Ah, _shit_, Angel,” 

Aziraphale was already on his merry way down Crowley’s body, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it aside. He nicked at his clavicles, kissed a trail along his pectorals, and licked Crowley’s right nipple quickly before taking it into his mouth and sucking. Crowley gasped and cried out, an ascending scale, really quite pitch perfect. 

Aziraphale bit down. 

“_Chrisssst_,” and Aziraphale sucked and laved and sucked and laved and generally showed no mercy as Crowley melted into the seat. Aziraphale reached up and tweaked his left nipple, pinching hard. Crowley made a sweet whiny gaspy noise and Aziraphale released his grip, twisting and climbing up the seat, pushing his demon down onto his back.

“Oh, let’s do remove these trousers, shall we?” He undid them the hard way, the human way, despite his ability to simply vanish them. He liked to see his lover become increasingly more exposed, increasingly more vulnerable, loved to unwrap him like a gift or an expensive and decadent dessert. Something buttery. 

He pulled the snakeskin boots gently, near reverently, off Crowley’s feet and out of the way of those tight trousers. He peeled them down Crowley’s thighs, and pushed his legs up into the air so he could pull them off the rest of the way. He hadn’t bothered with pants, the perfect greedy little slut, so as his trousers finally came free of his ankles, he lay exposed except for his open shirt. Aziraphale straddled his thighs, removing his own jacket and tossing it in the back seat. He removed nothing else. 

He lowered himself against Crowley, supporting his weight with his arms. He kissed him again but didn’t linger, trailing down Crowley’s body with gentle nips and licks. He nudged himself in between the muscular, corded thighs he loved so much, and knelt for his demon. He drew Crowley’s legs up over his shoulders, wrapped around his neck. His head now level with Crowley’s cock, he lapped teasingly at the head and swirled his tongue around it before he slid his mouth down around it and hollowed his cheeks. Crowley bucked into Aziraphale’s mouth involuntarily, prompting the angel to pull back and push his hips down with deceptive strength. 

He leaned down again and took Crowley’s perfect, beautiful cock between his lips, circling the corona with his tongue. He took the full length slowly, carefully, basking in the sounds of Crowley’s overwhelmed whimpers. He enjoyed it when Crowley slammed his thighs closed against his ears as sweet overwhelm set in. He pulled back with a pop, teasing now with his tongue. He reached up and pushed his fingers of his left hand into Crowley’s mouth, no force required as Crowley was more than willing. He pushed his fingers all the way into his mouth, asserting gentle control. Crowley sucked on the fingers and whined when Aziraphale pulled them out. He sat back on his heels to reach Crowley better.

With his now wet fingers, he reached down between Crowley’s legs and began teasing him slowly and gently. They knew they could skip the foreplay if they liked. But why? Aziraphale loved the slow, steady build up of tension, of sensation. He loved the feel of Crowley around his fingers before he slipped his cock inside him. He loved driving Crowley to desperation.

His index finger teased in a circle before he inserted it slowly and carefully. Those pretty gasps escaped Crowley’s mouth again, commingling with sweet, desperate sighs. Aziraphale thrust his finger in and out of Crowley at a glacial pace, waiting for him to get impatient.

Crowley begged prettily, too. 

“Aziraphale, pl-_please_,” he breathed, head thrown back and eyes closed. 

“So sorry, my dear, I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” he smirked. He was impressed with himself that he currently had it together well enough to sound smug. 

“Ngk, m-_more_, please - _ah_!” Aziraphale inserted another finger, speeding up just a touch. He began moving his fingers in a come-hither gesture, brushing his prostate. Crowley was now writhing shamelessly on his fingers. 

“_Hell’s fucking bells_, I want you in me, Angel,” Crowley sighed as he wrapped his leg around Aziraphale’s waist. 

“My what?” Aziraphale wouldn’t let him off so easy. 

“Ah_ah_\- yo- _ngk_\- your _cock,_ Angel, put your _cock_ in me, _please_,” it was all he could do not to discorporate. 

“Well, when you ask so nicely,” he said, still struggling to keep his own voice under control. He removed his fingers from Crowley, who whined at the deprivation. He unfastened… and unbuttoned... and unzipped his overly complicated trousers, pulling them and his pants down just enough to expose his impressive Effort.

He did take the opportunity to miracle some lube - finding the lube wasn’t the fun part - into his palm, stroking himself and applying generous amounts. He applied the excess to Crowley’s rim before lining himself up and pushing inside. His voice broke for the first time that evening, coming out in ragged sighs and building up to a feral moan. 

He started slow, entering in one smooth stroke.

“_Ahhhhh,_” __Crowley had lost his words. 

Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair and face so gently, asking quietly, “is everything quite well, dear?” Because it never hurts to communicate. 

Crowley nodded, eyes closed, head back, managing to remember the syllables “uh huh” and digging his heels into Aziraphale’s back for emphasis. 

He stayed there for just a moment, still, until he pulled out a bit and entered again. He continued at the gentle pace until he felt Crowley’s heels dig in again, more insistent now. Taking the hint, he quickened his pace. 

Crowley reacted by wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and clasping his fingers at his lower back. 

The sexual grasp of Crowley’s legs at his arse and the sensual clutching of hands at his lower back sent a charge through Aziraphale, and he began snapping his hips into Crowley, who cried out at the increased intensity. 

He wrapped his hand around Crowley’s cock, stroking in time to his thrusts. 

“Yes - ah - _yes_ \- ah, _fuck me_, Angel, fuck me, don’t stop-”

Aziraphale felt Crowley tighten around him as he came. He came in short spurts, ruining Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He had just enough presence of mind to be annoyed, although secretly he liked the idea. How __naughty__. 

Besides, Crowley would miracle it away later. 

Crowley’s orgasm made him tighten around Aziraphale, bringing him closer to the edge. He held out for only a few more strokes, increasing in intensity at the end before he too, fell, and cried out, his voice keening in celestial bliss. 

He collapsed on Crowley’s chest, gasping and sighing. 

He kissed Crowley sweetly and passionately, stroking his hair. He finally pulled out, miracling him clean and magically replacing his clothes. 

He gestured down to his waistcoat. “Crowley, dear, I’m afraid you’ve made rather a mess of an antique.”

Crowley rolled his eyes (near audibly), pursed his lips, and blew. The stain, and the rest of the mess, evaporated and Aziraphale looked most pleased. He pulled everything back up again - zipped, and buttoned, and fastened his overly complicated trousers and fell back into Crowley’s arms. 

“You think that just because you have me wrapped around your pinkie finger you can ask me to do anything.” He kissed the angelic bastard. 

“I’m right, am I not?” The smirk would be infuriating if it weren’t so charming. 

“Ngk.” Crowley stroked Aziraphale’s hair and pulled him in for another kiss. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“You remarkable bastard.” 

“I thought that’s why you liked me.”

They kissed again.

“Shut up.”


End file.
